


F*cking Clyde

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beta Derek, Derek is a Failwolf, Getting Together, Humor, Jealous Derek, Jealousy, M/M, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7340506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not about Stiles. It's most definitely not about Stiles. It's about Clyde and his dumb grin and his stupid hair and his annoying laugh, and the way his skinny butt makes a groove in Derek's couch where he's sitting next to Stiles. Who is resting a hand on Clyde's knee and <em>winking </em>at the <em>son of a</em>...</p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	F*cking Clyde

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyInSoulPunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyInSoulPunk/gifts).



> This is a birthday present for my sweet [Angie](http://prettyinsoulpunk.tumblr.com/) who deserves all the good things in the world! Look, I finished it! <3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 
> 
> Betaed by my best bro [Rita](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com/). Thanks, bro. <3

Clyde is an asshole.

 

Somewhere deep, _deep_ inside, Derek can sometimes admit to himself that he's probably slightly exaggerating Clyde's flaws, but no amount of honest self-reflection can make Derek like the guy. He's just... a dick.

 

“...and then, and then the guy says: ' _honey, this one's eating my popcorn_ '!”

 

Stiles laughs so hard his eyes are watering at what is most likely a sub-par joke. Not that Derek paid attention, because, frankly, he refuses to waste more of his energy on Clyde than is absolutely necessary. But Stiles... Stiles fucking _adores_ Clyde and his horrible sense of humor.

 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles wheezes, “that is the _worst_ joke I have _ever_ heard!”

 

Derek silently agrees, but he's aware that Stiles means it as a compliment, and all he can do is scowl and grit his teeth as Stiles launches into a lengthy explanation about how unfunny jokes circle around to become funny again if they hit a low enough point.

 

In truth, there's no real reason why Derek should dislike Clyde so violently. He's just an old friend from college, someone Stiles likes spending time with, and he's even in on the whole supernatural deal, thanks to a couple of not-quite-human family members. He's polite enough, friendly to the to pack, and he makes Stiles happy. Derek should approve of him.

 

But every time Clyde flashes his bleached-white smile at Stiles, slaps his thigh with mirth or tells another awful joke or amusing anecdote... Derek just gets the overwhelming urge to growl and snap his fangs until the little shithead goes away.

 

Stiles, perceptive as he is, does not miss Derek's subtle dislike, and corners him in the kitchen under the pretense of getting beer. “Dude, what the hell crawled up your ass? It's just Clyde! He's been coming around since senior year, and I know you were never best buds or anything, but if you don't stop it with the glaring, he's definitely gonna catch on! He's not an idiot, you know!” Derek would argue, but judging from the not-gentle punch to his shoulder Stiles is not in the mood to debate the IQ of his friend. He points a stern finger and narrows his eyes at Derek. “Just for that, I'm serving everyone your fancy schmancy microbrews,” he hisses, and ignores Derek's angry eyebrows. Not that Derek wouldn't let Stiles drink his expensive beer anytime, but _Clyde_...

 

Derek feels his eye twitch.

 

As per usual, they're all at Derek's house. Mostly because he's the only one with a house that will fit them all, and it's been years since he tried to deny how much he loves having them all there. A house full of pack, family and friends will always be a significant source of happiness to Derek, even after he gave over his alpha status to Scott. It's a flexible sort of arrangement where it's still officially the Hale pack and Hale lands, but Scott makes the unpopular decisions, because, alpha or not, no one can stay mad at him for long, and chases off anyone dumb enough to challenge him. Their dynamic would probably make several Hale generations roll in their wolfsbane-blooming graves, but it works.

 

Except, of course, for when people like goddamn Clyde make Derek wish he'd kept his alpha powers just so he'd have a legitimate excuse to kick him off Hale territory with instructions to never return.

 

“I don't like him,” Derek grumbles pointlessly at Scott when he passes on his way to the back yard.

 

“Who? Oh, Clyde,” Scott says with a smirk. And the smirking is definitely an alpha thing, because Derek sees absolutely no reason to smirk at present. It makes him fume even harder, and Scott chuckles. Actually _chuckles_. Derek gets the distinct feeling he's missing a joke, but, to be fair, he hasn't listened to a single dumb joke all night, out of fear he might accidentally pay attention to stupid Clyde.

 

“Don't worry, man,” Scott says softly, and pats Derek's shoulder. “You know Stiles likes you better.”

 

“That's not- I- what?!” Derek sputters, but Scott is already out the door.

 

It's not about Stiles. It's most definitely not about Stiles. It's about Clyde and his dumb grin and his stupid hair and his annoying laugh, and the way his skinny butt makes a groove in Derek's couch where he's sitting next to Stiles. Who is resting a hand on Clyde's knee and _winking_ at the _son of a_...

 

Derek forces himself to leave before he completely loses it.

 

He knows Stiles and Clyde had a thing in college. Oh, does he ever know. Stiles had gleefully called Derek to inform him of every single date he went on, and Derek had been okay with that. He'd been happy for Stiles, offered him advice, and only felt the tiniest pangs of wistfulness as he hung up. Stiles deserved the normalcy of college and dating and partying, after the horrors they all went through. And Derek? Well. Derek was fine in Beacon Hills. Honestly.

 

 _Perfectly fine_.

 

Stiles and Clyde didn't last long as a couple, but to Derek's increasing despair they apparently make excellent friends.

 

“Hey, Derek!” Stiles calls from the couch. “Get over here, Clyde is calling bullshit on the wyvern story, and I need you to back me up!”

 

Derek would rather exfoliate with a belt sander than make actual conversation with Clyde, but Stiles' words from the kitchen are still fresh in Derek's mind, so instead of running the hell away like he wants to, he hitches on what he hopes is an acceptable polite smile and says: “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Derek doesn't know how it happens, because he's not listening in. He's _not_. Because he doesn't care what Clyde says. But his senses must be out of whack, because for some reason he hears Clyde speaking in the living room clear as a bell from the backyard. “Dude, I think your boyfriend hates me.”

 

“Nah, he's just got issues in general, and a pretty good resting murder fac- _woah_ , wait, boyfriend?! Derek is _not_ my boyfriend!” Stiles' heart is going double time, and Derek's hand clenches around his coke can enough to make it buckle.

 

“Then how did you even know I meant him?” Clyde asks smugly. Because he's a smug asshole, _ugh_ , Derek hates him so much.

 

“Because... uh... _fuck_. Because he's the only one who hates you, dumbass!”

 

“You just said he didn't hate me.”

 

“Oh, for-” There's a frustrated breath, and Derek knows exactly what's going on. Can picture Stiles so clearly, flailing at first, and then carding a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly while his mind is going at light speed to catch up to the conversation and somehow win. It's not often that someone pulls a fast one on Stiles, but when it happens revenge is sweet, and Derek is already smirking to himself, looking forward to epic roasting Clyde is about to receive. “I hate it when you do that,” Stiles sighs eventually, and this time Derek's coke can dies a swift death, because _what_.

 

“Hey, you know I'm just pulling your leg, man,” Clyde says, and while Derek is reluctant to attribute any kind of positive adjective to Clyde at all ever, the closest word for how he sounds would be... gentle. Dammit.

 

“Yeah, but I wish you'd stop making me feel so goddamn stupid while doing it.” The sound of Clyde yelping from what is probably a pinch to somewhere sensitive is music to Derek's ears, but the joy is short lived.

 

“You know, the only reason you and me never worked out is because I'm smarter than you.”

 

“Uh, no, _wrong_ , the reason we never worked is because being the smartest person in the room is more important to you than, oh, I dunno, people's _feelings_.”

 

“Probably,” Clyde admits easily, and god, the thought of him hurting Stiles' feelings makes Derek want to punch something, preferably something easily bruised and Clyde-shaped. “But let's face it, you have a thing for assholes. Hence, Derek.”

 

“Pffft, _whaat_ , I don't have a th-”

 

“Dude.”

 

Stiles makes an aggravated noise, and Derek holds his breath. “So what if I do?”

 

Derek is aware that Clyde is speaking, but nothing could be less interesting in Derek's world compared to what he just heard. What does that even mean? Sure, Stiles thinks Derek is hot, this isn't news. But evidently Stiles has a thing, whatever that means, for Derek's asshole personality? Is that good? Or bad? He helplessly snaps back to attention when Stiles speaks again.

 

“You really think so?”

 

Dammit, he should have listened to Clyde. And what the hell has his life come to if this is the kind of thing he says to himself...

 

“Considering I could hear him grind his teeth from across the room when I hugged you, yeah, I think you've got a shot.”

 

Derek is so busy having earth-shattering revelations that he doesn't even hear Stiles until suddenly his voice is right next to him.

 

“Dude, what did that coke do to you?”

 

He jerks with surprise, only then realizing that he's still clutching the shredded and sticky metal of what used to be a soda can, and gently untangles his fingers. He cuts himself a couple of times, but he barely notices, because Stiles is right there next to him, no Clyde in sight, and oh god, Stiles has a thing for him.

 

“Uhm,” Derek says stupidly, and the word just kinda hangs there between them, soggy and pointless like the recently deceased coke can. Not that he really needs to explain, because Stiles might not have super senses, but he's damn near supernatural when it comes to putting pieces together. His face goes ruddy, splotching pink across his cheekbones in a way that's unfairly charming and distracting to Derek when it all comes together to him.

 

“You heard all of that, didn't you.”

 

Derek wants to crawl under a rock, because he knows it's rude, hell, he literally beat it into his betas when they first got their powers. “I'm... so sorry, I didn't mean to listen in,” he starts, but Stiles just shakes his head and plops down next to him on the porch step.

 

“No, it's cool. We did talk about you while you were practically in the house, of course you'd hear your name.”

 

A small part of Derek wants to pipe up and confess that he listened in before that, but Stiles obviously has something to say, and Derek is weak when it comes to Stiles. Always has been.

 

They sit for a while watching the rest of the pack mill around the back yard, mostly grouping impatiently around the grill like the hungry carnivores they are, and it's probably not the best place for a private conversation, but if Stiles is okay with it, so is Derek. And frankly, he's too pathetically desperate to hear whatever it is Stiles has to say to care even a little bit.

 

“So you heard that.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Stiles turns to him, eyes guarded, but also kind of... hopeful? Derek isn't entirely sure, and he's kinda terrified he's misjudging the situation. “And?”

 

“And... what?”

 

“Jeez, Derek,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “And! Like... how do you... I dunno... feel about that?”

 

Derek stares at him helplessly, because he's so desperately unsure of what he's being asked, and so very scared of fucking it up. “I hate Clyde,” is what comes out, and Stiles raises a surprised eyebrow. “I mean, I really fucking hate him.”

 

“O...kay?”

 

“I'm sure he's a good guy, really, but I hate him. I'm sorry, but I just do.”

 

“That's... not what I was asking, really, but. Thanks for your honesty, I guess,” Stiles says slowly.

 

“He's just so... _ugh_. So goddamn clever and handsome and probably funny too, considering how much you love his stupid jokes. And he _had_ you, and he just fucking threw you away, like an _idiot_ -”

 

“Woah, I'm gonna have to stop you right there, big guy. First of all, _I_ broke up with _him_ , in case you didn't snoop during that part, and second... are you being jealous right now? Because you sound jealous.”

 

The denial is right there on the tip of his tongue, habitual and ready, but it dies. Dies a swift and brutal death right there in the small hint of a smile on Stiles' face, his eyes fixed on Derek with scary intensity. “Yes.”

 

“Yes, what?”

 

“Yes, Stiles, I'm jealous. I'm jealous of Clyde. Because for some dumb reason he makes you happy, and... I wanna be the one to do that.”

 

The smile on Stiles' face is like the sun coming out, and Derek basks in it, feeling warm to his core. “You goddamn idiot, Derek.”

 

Wait, what.

 

“What?”

 

“You listened to me detailing all my hook-ups over the phone like some damn martyr, and skulked around and hated Clyde instead of actually telling me this.”

 

“Well, I didn't know when you were at college,” Derek mutters, although, if he's honest, he'd probably had an inkling, but just hadn't wanted to look too closely at it.

 

“Then when?” Stiles presses.

 

Derek shrugs, because he's not sure. But he's hated Clyde from day one, so probably longer than he likes to admit. “Does it matter?”

 

Stiles looks like he wants to argue the point, but his eyes flick down to Derek's lips, and he seems to deflate all of a sudden. “You know what, no. No it doesn't.”

 

And then Stiles is kissing him. Messy and off-center, and Derek's hand is still sticky from the coke when he clutches at the back of Stiles' t-shirt, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters. It doesn't matter that the pack is cheering at them, or that Clyde is wolf-whistling from somewhere. It doesn't matter that it took them almost ten goddamn years to get here, dating back to two reckless teenagers and an inhaler on Hale lands. All that matters is that now? Now Derek has all the reason in the world to tell Clyde to fuck off. He missed his chance.

 

What a _moron_.

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to poke me on [Tumblr](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
